The time had come to go to market.
To you, the mileage was ideal.
The cell was buzzing in my pocket.
This trip would be a living hell.

You said your new wife was ideal.
The college was near Baltimore.
Only the divorce was real.
A dog was yapping on the shore.

The college was near Baltimore.
The lights reminded you of Lethe,
The yapping dog upon the shore.
The white Chianti made you sleepy.

You dreamed of going back to Lethe.
Only later did you feel the dread.
The white Chianti made you sleepy.
You slept more soundly than the dead.

Only later did you feel the dread.
The cell was buzzing in my pocket.
You slept more soundly than the dead,
But the time had come to go to market.

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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 28 Number 7, on page 26
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